


Coda

by Angryangryowl



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Clothed Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Falling In Love, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Episode: s01e06 Countrycide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-29
Updated: 2018-11-29
Packaged: 2019-09-02 08:26:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16783306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angryangryowl/pseuds/Angryangryowl
Summary: Ianto and Tosh comfort each other after the events of Countrycide..





	Coda

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GhostOfDorothyStreet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostOfDorothyStreet/gifts).



Things haven't quite been the same since that night. Although, she reasons, why should they be? Of everything they've seen, faced, defeated, it's always humanity that comes up with the most horrifying ways to hurt humanity.

After Owen saves her, perhaps just to show there's no hard feelings, or some variation on I love you, but I'm no good for you, and I can't, sweetheart, darlin’, my soft sweet girl. She's grateful, anyway, that she doesn't die, strangled and dumped or worse, far worse, at the hands of the locals.

But afterwards Owen can't quite look her in the eye.

Jack squeezes her shoulder, offers her retcon, promises that Owen will take a look at her neck, the garland of ugly, purpling bruises around her throat tomorrow, check for any lasting damage. But tonight they all need rest, to forget the best way they know how.

Owen disappears with Gwen shortly after they arrive back in Cardiff. Tosh doesn't blame them. She can't even bring herself to be angry with Gwen. She'd do that too, if she thought it would help her forget, the rubber curtains, the metallic, sickening tang of fresh death in the air, the long knives and rubber gloves, bodies hung by their feet and…

'Come on.’ Ianto says, soft, dropping his usual businesslike tone and offering her his arm. Jolted out of her train of thought, she glances around, the Hub, home, glowing lights that repeat in a sequence that assures her time and space runs exactly as it should for now. Nothing should, nothing can, be okay again. And yet…

’Come on, love.’ he repeats, holding out his hand to help her up from the battered couch in one corner of the hub where she's been sat staring for the past hour. 'I'll take you home.’

She takes his hand, getting to her feet. She's not sure she's ever heard him use any sort of term of endearment before. 

He attempts a smile, reassuring, though he looks as wrung out as she feels, something horribly like blood dried across his cheekbone, the beginnings of a truly spectacular black eye blooming around his left eye socket.

They don't talk, all the way back to her flat. She can't ever recall having been in Ianto's car either, though it's as impeccably kept as she'd expect it to be, not particularly new or showy, but no empty coffee cups of stray paperwork either. It's kind of sweet.

There's an unspoken sympathy between them, an almost palpable bond that wasn't there before, after everything they've seen in the past twenty four hours. So when she offers him coffee, he accepts even though it's the sort of cheap instant he would normally turn his nose up at.

They stare at her kitchen tiles a long few moments, that could be ten minutes or an hour, as the street lights come on outside, as the orange glow of Cardiff spreads across the floor from the window. Neither of them cries. It seems somehow inappropriate to, after they made it home, while several more unfortunate souls didn't. 

She stands on one side of the narrow kitchen, her back resting against the counter top, him on the other, resting against the wall. She isn't sure who stands first. It might have been him, intending to go, or say something meaningful. But he catches her eye, and they stare, and stare.

He looks so young, younger still than, what? Twenty four? Twenty five? She can't believe she's never asked, that they’ve spoken so little. They get on well enough, it's just that they've never exactly had that extra push into being actual friends.

And now, it seems, the push is too hard and too jarring, and they are both desperate to reaffirm that they're alive and whole and here, together. She steps forward, decisively, into his space, and his hands are resting on her hips, still not quite sure what would be too presumptuous.

She initially intends just a hug, reassurance, but his body is warm and solid, and his smile as he nudges their foreheads together is warm and genuine, comforting in spite of the grief in his misty grey eyes. 'I'm sorry, Tosh. Christ, I'm sorry it was us, I should've-’

She cuts him off with a kiss, because she can't bear to hear him tear himself apart right now, not when it was him that saved them both, comforted her even when the end looked certain and grisly. 

He doesn't hesitate, his arms tight around her waist, kisses passionate and raw, one of his hands up between her shoulder blades, pulling her to him in a way that should be suffocating, but grounds her, claims her. The dark and all the horrors in it can't have her because, for now at least, she's his. And he's hers, the groan as her fingers slip into his hair affirms that.

He presses her back against the countertop in answer, lifts her up to perch on the counter as their kisses grow messier, their teeth clicking, his hands gentle on her injured neck, stroking her hair, her back, her waist just beneath the hem of her top, her knee, pushing the hem of her skirt aside.

'Is this alright?’ He seems to be forcing himself to stop, flushed and breathless, tie hanging loose around his neck where she's pulled the knot undone, his hair mussed by her fingers and standing up at the back.

'Yes.’ She pulls him closer, wriggling her skirt a little further up her thighs so he can stand closer, between her knees as she kisses him again, affectionately 'I don't...I don't want to question this too much right now. Why we're doing this. What happens next.’ She murmurs against his lips, not wanting to be too far away from him 'But...I do care about you. A lot. And we can stop this, right now, if you think-’

It's his turn to cut her off with a kiss, firm and lingering, before whispering in return. 'I don't think I do want to stop. I want you, though, Tosh..’ his hand slips a little further up to rest on her thigh as their bellies press together ‘If that's alright..’

She hums in agreement as she kisses him again, unfastening his shirt buttons with none of her usual precision, as his warm, wide hands smooth up her thighs, his thumb brushing over the front of her underwear, drawing a low moan which he seems to like, that shy smile returning.

'Here?’ he whispers, pressing her back a little firmer against the counter top.

'Don't want to wait…’ she whispers, unfastening his trousers, biting her lip as his fingers push her knickers aside, rough fingertips parting her folds, finding the aching nub of her clit as she pulls him free of his underwear.

She reaches blindly to kiss him in the half-light of the kitchen, her fingertips careful and gentle over his jaw, ear and neck, cursing against his mouth when he presses a finger into her, finding her slick, aching for him, then two, her hips arching and rocking against those clever fingers.

'You're so good…’ she gasps, wishing she could think of something better until he answers with a low groan as she pumps him with her hand 'Please…’ 

She kicks off her shoes as he pushes her skirt up around her hips, grabbing her backside and pulling her close, pausing only to get rid of her underwear entirely, slipping it over her knees and to the floor, returning to her to kiss her greedily, her legs wrapping around his waist as he pushes into her, gasping against her hair ‘Christ, Tosh, baby…’

She likes that, for someone who isn't much one for terms of endearment, he doesn't seem to mind with her.

It's over too quick, grinding roughly together, pulling at each others clothes, mouths finding each other, and it's glorious. Her hands slip beneath his shirt, stroking, clinging to his back and waist.

His lips are careful on her cheek and forehead, kissing, mouthing, but mostly open against hers, soft moans and gasps, telling her she's beautiful, perfect…

She comes hard, crying out against his shoulder, her hand still tight in his shirt as he follows her, gasping her name, holding her close and tight as they rock through it.

When he finally pulls away, just enough to look at her, he looks a bit worried, like he thinks she might cry or suddenly reject him.

'I don't...I don't normally do things like that.’

It's so earnest, his eyes wide, that she can't help but giggle.

‘Was that okay?’

'Better than okay.’ He smiles down at her, cupping her cheek with his palm.

She cuddles him close, kissing his cheek and that sweet mouth again 'Stay with me tonight? I don't want to be on my own..’

'Me neither…’ He fastens his trousers, because it may be a little embarrassed to trip over them 'Would it be completely over the top if I carried you to bed now?’

'Oh yes..’ she looks up at his, unable to stop a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth 'But I think I'd enjoy it all the same..’


End file.
